


Sort Of Nice, But Overall Fucking Awful

by elderprices



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: M/M, NSFW, also there's some angst, and a brief lighthearted moment where jason appears but that's about it, as far as how nice things get, just like in general it's nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 17:26:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8854246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elderprices/pseuds/elderprices
Summary: Things are kind of bad, and then they get better, and then they get really bad again.





	

Marvin looks nice. He doesn’t look _fantastic_. But there’s a certain charm about him in that uncharacteristic cardigan that makes him look… _nice_. He’s smiling. His hair is combed back--still pretty messy, sort of greasy. And yet, nice. 

But then there’s a woman beside him. She’s beautiful. The dress is sort of tacky. But she’s beautiful and normal-looking and maybe Marvin really is in love with her from the way their hands are clasped together. And then there’s a _kid_. Marvin is a certified breeder. And _christ_ does he look like Marvin.

And then there’s Whizzer. Holding the picture, probably making a hideous face as he scrutinizes the happy family.

“Wine.” Marvin is behind him, his arm over Whizzer’s shoulder, offering a glass. Whizzer takes it and knocks it back immediately. He’s still holding onto the picture. Marvin stands a moment to look at it with him. His eyes are glassy.

“Cute kid.” Whizzer says. He means it. He doesn’t sound like he means it. Marvin smiles a little.

“Yeah. He’s great. Super smart.” He takes a sip of wine and laughs. “Pretty damn crazy.”

“Gets it from you.” Whizzer snarks. Marvin laughs again, kisses his neck. Whizzer’s still holding the frame, still staring dead into Marvin’s wife’s pretty female eyes. “I shouldn’t be here.” His voice is so small in the den, in the night, whispering low enough that the family portrait can’t hear him. Marvin shakes his head and turns Whizzer around to face him. Their noses touch, their breathing just a little heavier.

“I want you here.”

“I don’t feel comfortable screwing in front of your wife and kid, Marvin.” Whizzer smiles. He’s serious, but good at hiding his guilt. This entices Marvin to smile--just as much guilt, though also undetectable.

They kiss--what a bizarre note to kiss on--and at some point Whizzer’s following Marvin into his bedroom. The bedroom he shares with his wife. The bed is nice. The sheets are crisp and it’s topped with at least five decorative pillows that Marvin is quick to toss away. Whizzer lowers Marvin onto the bedside. He lowers himself to his knees. He feels maybe this isn’t a good idea again, when he spots another family portrait on the nightstand. Marvin’s eyes are closed in anticipation. Whizzer flips the portrait down with one hand, unbuttoning Marvin’s slacks with the other.

The two of them have screwed countless times by now, but only at Whizzer’s. Or in the car. Once at the gym. Maybe twice. But now they’re at Marvin’s, on Marvin’s bed, with the smell of Marvin’s wife’s perfume in the air, and there’s something disgustingly exciting about being a homewrecker suddenly. Whizzer spits into his hand. He gently teases the head of Marvin’s aching cock and laughs when he hears Marvin moan. He continues, first delicately, taking his time, being a pain in the ass. Then, when Marvin’s chest begins to heave and his hands reach to grab a handful of Whizzer’s perfect hair, he succumbs, and takes Marvin’s cock in his mouth. His tongue swirls around Marvin’s head painfully slow, flicking and teasing and eliciting more amazing sounds from his lover. His lover every so slightly bucks his hips every time Whizzer’s mouth sinks down around his cock. Marvin’s eyes are open now, so that he can watch his pretty boy at work, and he swears he’s brought so much closer just watching Whizzer use his mouth and his gorgeous pink lips. Whizzer catches Marvin’s glance and he takes his mouth away with a _pop_ so he can smile and lick his teeth.

“My turn.” Whizzer isn’t asking. He stands to rest his hands on Marvin’s thighs--they kiss, Marvin can taste his own precum and it’s alarmingly, _disturbingly_ hot. Whizzer jerks Marvin’s cock just a few times more before kicking him off the bed and taking his spot. He leans back on his shoulders, his thighs spread wide to showcase his impressive package. Marvin falls to his knees, he hurriedly unzips Whizzer’s trousers, he pulls them down to his ankles. Marvin places hot, sloppy kisses on Whizzer’s inner thighs. He bites. He takes time to suck on the left thigh--he favorites the left thigh--until there’s a deep purple bruise. Whizzer’s moaning with his mouth wide open. He’s louder than Marvin, but they both know it’s mostly theatrics. Both enjoy theatrics. Both like to make a scene, so neither say anything besides “more.”

Marvin can’t take Whizzer fully in his mouth like Whizzer can him. But he makes up for it by sucking relentlessly, mercilessly until Whizzer is cursing and pulling at his hair in fear of coming too soon. Eventually, when Whizzer’s voice seems to jump an octave, Marvin pulls his mouth away. He’s satisfied with his performance--they both seem to be. Whizzer’s breath is coming out hard, kind of strained, and his eyes are beginning to gloss over from the ridiculous pleasure of it all. Marvin takes it upon himself to make the next move, as per usual, since Whizzer is used to (and prefers) sitting and looking pretty. He makes his way back up onto the bedside, and pulls Whizzer onto his lap in one smooth motion. Their cocks kiss gently--Marvin grinds his against the warmth of Whizzer’s and the two of them moan into each other’s mouths. Their breath is hot. Their bodies are hot. The bed, the entire room, is extremely hot, and the two of them are sweating and struggling to tear each other’s clothes off.

Whizzer is on his hands and knees, his face is buried into Marvin’s wife’s pillow, slowly jerking himself. Marvin doesn’t seem one to eat ass, one would think, but maybe in this moment of relishing how fucked up the entire situation is, he’s deciding to go above and beyond expectations. Whizzer isn’t complaining. In fact, Whizzer’s enjoying it thoroughly. He’s drooling onto the pillow--partly in spite of its ownership, as a subconscious “fuck you, I’m screwing your husband”--and he’s so overcome with pleasure he’s practically begging Marvin to get to the main event. Only with a weak “please, Daddy” does Marvin finally comply.

He turns Whizzer onto his back. They like to watch each other while they screw. And they both know how tight Whizzer is on his back. Marvin massages Whizzer’s thighs, splotchy red from all the grabbing and sucking, as he preps the two of them. The lube is cold--Whizzer yelps--and Marvin’s cock is throbbing--Whizzer winces a little as the aching passes through him. But it subsides, and all that’s left is a heartbeat pounding in Whizzer’s ears and in his chest and in his legs and in his cock as Marvin pushes himself in further. They take a moment to catch their breath. Whizzer’s legs are trembling against Marvin’s thighs. Marvin’s hands are trembling against Whizzer’s hips. He bucks his hips and Whizzer follows and they adopt their rhythm of in and out like old pros. And maybe it’s because of the uncouth circumstances, but it feels incredible, the two of them grunting and moaning and panting and begging. Marvin’s knuckles are white as he digs into Whizzer’s thighs. He watches Whizzer. Gorgeous Whizzer, on his bed, who moans and sweats and is _so fucking tight_.

Marvin is close. Whizzer is getting there, and working hard to catch up by touching himself furiously as he watches Marvin drive in and out. His breathing is high-pitched. He can’t stop from cursing, words are literally pouring from his mouth without a second thought. “I’m so close,” Marvin growls, his eyes snapping shut, wanting to hold on just a little further. Hearing Marvin say so brings Whizzer even closer, and he doesn’t hold back from urging Marvin to cum for him. “You’re so fucking hot,” Marvin tells Whizzer. “So fucking tight.” Whizzer’s cheeks redden even deeper, his shoulders shuddering. He tells Marvin to cum again. “Inside me,” he adds through wetted lips. 

Marvin obeys in an instant. He grunts hard and forcefully, and his bucking hips slow to gradual pushes, and his orgasm drains himself to a post-coitus stupor. He pulls out of Whizzer, who is still on the edge, still so close. Marvin bends down to finish him off with his mouth, and within seconds of Marvin coming down, Whizzer cums with a long moan. 

Then he pulls Marvin up to kiss him, deep and hot and heavy, swapping thick spit and cum as the cherry on top of their depraved homosexual romp. Their bodies are clammy with sweat. Marvin falls down beside Whizzer, takes a hard and reluctant swallow, and begins to pepper his lover in kisses. Whizzer basks in the afterglow, his arms wrapped around Marvin’s neck. They exchange little pecks, small whispers of affection and praise, their hands exploring each other’s bodies in a playful and calming way. Whizzer almost forgets where he is until the phone rings and Marvin is called back into the den.

Whizzer is alone in the bedroom. It smells like sex and sweat and Avon perfume. There’s a wet spot on Marvin’s wife’s pillow from where he drooled. There’s stains on their nice sheets. That picture is still on the nightstand, still flipped down, and against Whizzer’s better judgement he picks it up. He stares at it as he sits on the bed, naked and covered in hickeys from Marvin. Whizzer wonders how long this is going to go on. Whizzer wonders if Marvin’s wife already knows. If the _kid_ already knows.

Marvin is back in the room now--maybe he has been for some time--and he looks worried.

“What?” Whizzer knows what. Marvin knows Whizzer knows what.

“Trina’s coming.”

“I should go, then.”

“I think you should meet her.”

Whizzer is already putting on his clothes when Marvin says this, and he has to stop to make sure Marvin isn’t being stupid. He’s being stupid, but he’s serious. Whizzer scoffs.

“I think not.” He’s buttoning his shirt with shaking hands. He wants to leave, or just disappear. Marvin gets to work making the bed. No time to clean the sheets. He hopes Trina doesn’t notice.

“Jason’s with her.”

“I _really_ should go, then.”

“I think you would like him.”

“Maybe, but I’m not gonna stick around to find out.” Whizzer stops in front of the mirror to fix his hair. It doesn’t cooperate, and he’s in too much of a rush to try any harder. Marvin follows him into the den, struggling back into his own clothes, checking the clock on the wall to confirm just how little time they have left alone.

“They’ll be home any minute; they’re gonna catch you sneaking out.” Marvin warns. Whizzer is tying his shoes on the sofa, and looking at his watch every other second. Marvin is in the bathroom rinsing his mouth out.

“Well then at least I won’t be around when your wife has a fucking aneurysm.” He rushes into the bathroom, slightly nudging Marvin to the side and grabbing the Listerine from his hand.

“Whizzer--”

“Marvin, look, this whole thing was very--,” he gargles, then spits, “--very _quaint_ and very _romantic_ and for a second I really did feel like we were two happy domestic old queens. It was nice. But your wife and kid are right down the block and I’m not in the mood to ruin your goddamn family life right now. Do you have any hairspray?”

“No I don’t.”

“Damn.”

“I think Trina might, in our bedroom.”

Whizzer gags.

“Screw it. It’s fine like this.” Whizzer fusses with his hair anyway.

“Where are you going?” Marvin sounds suspicious. Maybe jealous. Whizzer makes a face.

“Uh, anywhere but here?” He turns to leave--Marvin grabs his jacket collar and pulls him back. Something about the chase makes Whizzer laugh.

“Where are you _going?_ ” Marvin repeats with less naivety. Whizzer pauses a moment, wondering whether or not to lie. Then he rolls his eyes, kind of scoffs.

“I have a _date_.”

“A _date_.” Marvin seems disgusted.

“Yes, Marvin, a _date_.” He watches Marvin stomp back into the den with his hand on a hip. “What, so you’re allowed to be _married_ and have a _kid_ and fuck a _woman_ but I’m not allowed to go on a _date?_ Whizzer has to stay put and wait patiently for the day his closeted lover finally drops this whole act?”

“I don’t fuck women.”

“You have a goddamn _kid_ , Jesus _Christ_ you’re so impossible!” Whizzer pauses to collect himself. Then he waves his hand about dismissively. “Whatever, I can’t do this right now, Marvin. I have to call a cab.” Marvin is about to protest again.

But there’s someone at the door.

The two of them are frozen.

“Hell- _ooooo!_ ” A woman. A happy, cheery woman. Marvin turns to Whizzer, tells him to take off his jacket and sit on the sofa.

“We’re old friends, we ran into each other, I invited you over to catch up.”

“Where did we meet?”

“The gym.”

“The _gym?_ Do you know how gay that sounds?”

“The _gym_ , Whizzer.” Marvin races into the other room, leaving Whizzer alone on the sofa in the den. The lights are still dimmed. In the other room, Whizzer can hear Marvin talking happy and fake with his wife and his son. Stupid, domestic conversation about “practice” and “the Applebaums” and “what’s for dinner”. Whizzer wants to leave.

He gets up to leave. 

But. 

Marvin’s son is now standing in the doorway.

Small and only slightly put off, he’s wearing a baggy baseball tee, and he’s squinting at Whizzer on the sofa.

“Why’re you sitting in the dark?” He turns up the lights before Whizzer can answer. “Are you my dad’s boyfriend?”

Whizzer feels sick. His ears go red.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, ‘are you my dad’s friend?’ He told my mom something about a friend.” The kid flops down on the other end of the sofa, in front of the chessboard on the coffee table. He moves a white piece. Then he turns it and moves a black piece. Whizzer feels a little lightheaded.

“Uh… y-yeah.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Whizzer.” The kid ignores him.

“Jason.” He moves another piece. “Whizzer sounds like a fake name. You know how to play chess?”

“I, uh…” Whizzer glances to the doorway. Hoping that maybe he’ll summon someone to save him from interacting with this kid any longer. “I don’t.”

Jason stops his game to stare at Whizzer, dramatically judgemental, with a raised eyebrow.

“You don’t know how to play chess.”

The two of them are interrupted when Marvin re-enters the den, this time followed by who Whizzer assumes is Trina. She’s dark haired and beautiful and her dress is in better taste than the one in the portrait. She says hello; her voice is warm and welcoming. Whizzer stands and they shake hands and there’s a second of adult chatter before Trina announces that she has to start dinner.

“Jason, why don’t you come help me?” She’s overly excited to illustrate her perfect family to their guest. Jason, unfortunately, has no desire to play along and makes a gagging noise from his throat. Trina drops the act, scoffs, tries again with a more stern demeanor: “Jason, come help me in the kitchen.”

“I’m not nine anymore, _mother_.”

“Then at least bring your chess board _into_ the kitchen and play there.” She waits in the doorway. Jason rolls his eyes all too dramatically before picking up his game and lugging it into the next room; Trina follows.

Marvin and Whizzer are alone yet again. It’s quiet. Marvin’s smiling and Whizzer’s beginning to smile back.

“He’s a great kid.”

“Thank you.”

“ _Super_ smart.”

“I told you. Didn’t I tell you?” Marvin’s behind Whizzer now, and his hand is beginning to rub Whizzer’s shoulder tenderly. “Everything will be alright.” He kisses Whizzer quickly on the cheek, and offers his ass a squeeze just to be a pain.

There’s a voice behind them. A little noise, something like a gasp, and Trina is standing in the doorway with the bottle of wine from earlier in her hand. She’s smiling, but her lips keep trembling through her words.

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice is hoarse. Hey eyes kind of watery. Marvin breaks away from Whizzer--the two of them stand there, looking caught and stupid. Trina takes a sharp breath in.

“I was going to pour everyone a glass of wine but…”

She holds it up; it sloshes, it sounds almost empty, “it looks like we don’t have enough left for everyone.”


End file.
